In Wishes
by LadyNogs
Summary: Sequel to "In Dreams". Seven years since Sarah won Toby back, the Goblin King has reappeared to take back what she stole from him. Somewhat Dark!Jareth. This one bids to be longer! All criticism welcome! Chapter 6 posted.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters property of Jim Henson and Co.

A/N: This is a sequel to "In Dreams", so it would probably be best to read that first. A quick summary for the impatient - seven years have passed, and the Goblin King comes back into Sarah's life to take back what she took. She refuses, and offers to join him instead.

The wind ghosted through the trees, rattling the dying leaves. Sarah took a deep breath and watched the Goblin King. Her blood still stood like a beacon on his lip. He had made no effort to wipe it away, no motion to lick it clean, and it glistened against his mouth. Cinnamon and leather and peat, with the bright copper tang of blood and magic laid over all. He was still, as only he could be - like a bird of prey.

"A try?" His voice was dry. "My dear, that is simply not enough."

Sarah gathered her courage.

"I know," she said. "I never meant for this to happen." He smirked at her. "I know, I know, I've said a lot of things I don't mean. But I do mean this. I didn't know what _you_ meant, when you asked me. Y'know, before?" She could feel shame rising to heat her cheeks. "But I do, now. I think . And I don't fit here. I never have. You say that I changed you...well, you changed me, too. I want to go back."

He shifted almost abruptly, stalking closer to her. Her fear was back. He circled her, and she felt a strange sense of deja vu - he had done the same in the ruins of the Escher Room.

"Do you, Sarah? Do you know what going back entails?" Sarah could feel the heat of his body like flame licking at her skin.

"No," she breathed. "Tell me. Tell me before."

"You would be my Queen, Sarah. Heart, mind, body, and soul. You would be ruled by me, possessed by me, owned by me. Your every action would serve my will." She shivered, lust and terror and revulsion churning her gut.

_Fear __me__, __love __me__, __do __as __I __say__..._

"And in return?" she asked, squeezing her eyes shut. Leather and cinnamon and peat.

"I will be your slave, Sarah. In all things." He stood behind her, and she struggled to keep from leaning back into his chest. His voice was soft, almost sad. "The choice is, and always has been, yours, my Lady."

"And the Labyrinth?"

"Yours to rule or destroy, as you see fit. If you take your place by my side, you would have dominion over all its subjects, saving only myself. It is not an easy kingdom to rule. It is dark, and dangerous, and full of traps for the unwary." She heard the smile in his tone, could picture the cruel twist of his lips. "Are you frightened, Sarah?"

She nodded, mute. She felt as though she were dreaming again. The wind was biting, but it didn't cut as deeply as it should. His voice, his presence, his scent overwhelmed her senses. Peat and cinnamon and leather. A strand of his hair brushed her cheek as he bent to whisper in her ear.

"You should be. There is no going back, Sarah. Say the words, and I will take you."

Her heart thrummed in her chest, and her mind raced. Panicked thoughts flitted across the surface, like birds flushed from the brush.

"I wish," she began, hearing her voice crack. _No __more __running_, she thought. The wind died, and the little stand of trees fell silent as the grave. "I wish the Goblin King would take me as his Queen...right now."

When the first bolt of lightning lit the clearing, it was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, alas. All characters courtesy of Jim Henson and Co.

Her first impression was of darkness. Her head felt thick, as though she had struck it, and as she strained to make out even a hint of her surroundings, she felt a touch of vertigo. Her breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness - the darkness was so complete it pressed on her like a weight.

Her head throbbed, and her questing fingers found wetness at her temple.

_I __must __have __hit __my __head__. __Where __am __I__?_

For a brief moment she was certain that the blow had blinded her, and she bit her lip to stifle a scream. She fought her panic down slowly, forcing herself to breathe evenly. Silence enveloped her.

Leather and cinnamon and peat. _Him_. His scent curled around her, and she heard the scrape of his boots on dusty stone. A leather-clad finger traced her cheekbone, and she started back, but his hands seized her elbows, holding her in place.

"Come come, Sarah. That simply will not do," he purred, drawing her full length against him. She could feel the heat of his bare chest, the cool silver medallion pressing against her cheek. She relaxed into his embrace, sliding her arms around his waist. He was all lean muscle, almost wiry under her hands. His head dipped, and he was kissing her again. His mouth was hot, but his lips were gentle, and he explored her mouth lazily. Sarah felt heat bloom in her belly, and despite the ache in her skull and the oppressive blackness, she lost herself in the taste of his mouth.

Peat and cinnamon and leather. She clung to him, drowning in sensation, and he molded her against his body. When his tongue flicked across her lips, she opened to him instinctively, arching her back to press herself closer. She had craved this for so long, this tenderness from her former enemy. Desire threatened to overwhelm her, but all too soon he was withdrawing, pulling away from her mouth. She wanted more.

Sarah whimpered, lifting her face to his in the darkness, and she felt his mouth on her throat. His tongue traced tiny circles of fire on her skin, his teeth grazing her flesh, as he kissed and nibbled down to the arch of her collarbone. He growled against her skin, and she shivered as he pressed himself against her. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to meet her fevered kiss, tasting cinnamon and leather and peat. His hands were hard on her waist, and he rolled his hips against her belly in unmistakable pantomime. Headache forgotten, Sarah moaned in response, worrying his lower lip with her teeth. She slid her hands underneath the open collar of his shirt, revelling in the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. His chest was smooth and so hot she nearly flinched away from him. She could feel the strong thrum of his heartbeat, feel the rapid rise and fall of his breath. She burned under his roving hands.

The hunger between them mounted, their kisses becoming deeper, more passionate. Jareth's hands slid over her ribs, moving to cup her breasts through the fabric of her blouse. He growled again, urging her mouth open, plundering her lips with his tongue. She drew her nails down his chest, curving around his ribs to leave furrows on his back. He pressed her back, into a rough stone wall, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he ground himself against her. He kissed her like a starving man, feasting on her mouth, and Sarah welcomed him. His skin was feverish, burning, and she felt herself burning with him.

In the space between heartbeats, he was gone, pulling away from her roughly. She staggered, sliding down the wall, aching to feel him pressed against her again. His laugh drifted through the blackness, bitter and ever so slightly breathless, and Sarah felt a brief frisson of fear.

She heard a sharp scratching noise, smelled the sharp stink of sulfur, and a match flared in the darkness. She shielded her eyes, blinded by the sudden brightness, and watched through slitted lids as the Goblin King lit a stub of beeswax candle.

The room was small, low-ceiled, and horribly familiar.

_The __oubliette__. __I__'__m __in __the __oubliette__. __Oh __god__, __what __have __I __done__?_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to Jim Henson and Co.

_The __oubliette__. __Oh__, __god__, __the __oubliette__._

"Ah, precious thing, how you distract me." The Goblin King's voice was rough with desire, but Sarah heard only menace. Her own lust receded beneath icy terror. "I had nearly forgotten what I had planned for you."

"Let me go," she breathed, ashamed of the way her voice trembled. "You can't keep me here."

"Oh but I can, Sarah. I had hoped you would prove more of a challenge, my dear. I even warned you."

_It __is __dark__, __and __dangerous__, __and __full __of __traps __for __the __unwary__._

He cocked his head at her, arms casually folded across his chest. The candle flickered, light flashing off his amulet. Sarah heard the blood rushing in her ears, felt her breath come in pained gasps.

"You _bastard_," she hissed. "You tricked me!"

The Goblin King laughed, long and ringing in the confines of the oubliette. His laugh held all the cruelty of his nature, all the malicious joy he took in her distress. His head was tossed back, the long line of his throat exposed - his beauty was like a knife, and Sarah felt the first tremor of heartache. Slowly, he brought his mirth under control. Sarah trembled, fear and rage and desire warring for dominance. His mouth curled in a mockery of a smile, and he reached to brush her cheek with one gloved hand.

"You are so beautiful when you're angry, Sarah," he murmured, and she flinched back from his touch. A flash of pain lit his eyes, and he dropped his hand. "Come now, Sarah, did you think we would be _friends_?" He turned away from her. "I brought you here not as punishment, though I must confess, I had hoped you would interpret it that way. As my Queen, you must learn to see through the illusions that my Labyrinth presents. Nothing here is as it seems, myself least of all. You consented to be my Queen, Sarah, and I will demand nothing less." He glanced over his shoulder, his face a mask of cold indifference. "I will take my leave of you, my Lady. Tonight, I give you. Think of it as a gift."

The candle flame streamed sideways as he swirled the ragged cloak around himself and vanished. Sarah was alone, in the oubliette, with only the lingering scent of cinnamon and leather and peat.

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Jareth paced across the throne room, riding crop idly tapping his thigh. His blood was still up, and it was only a measure of his formidable experience that he had not lost all control and ravished the girl there in the oubliette, in a bed of dust and bones. His need for her had not waned in the seven years since she had run his Labyrinth - if anything, it had consumed him more completely than he had thought possible. He despised her for scorning him, for being so innocent. And yet...it was her innocence that had drawn him from the start. And her strength of will, the idea that she could be his equal, her defiance of his will - all of these things had made him love her. She invigorated him, made him feel almost young. He had not felt young in centuries.

He knew he had become jaded. Centuries had passed since he had assumed his role - mankind's belief in stories had waned. His subjects, once monstrous and terrifying, had been diminished, his Labyrinth reduced to a shadow of the terror it once inspired. He had tired of the endless bickering, the ceaseless onslaught of time as it eroded his realm and his power. The once glittering court had fallen into decadence, and then decay. The dream he had sent to Sarah in the poisoned peach had been an echo of the last gasp of his court. That ball had been the last held in the castle beyond the Goblin City.

His peers had left, trickling away as the realm had fallen into dissolution, and he had been alone. Time passed, days blurring into weeks, into months, into decades. Magic left the world Above, and the Underground waned.

And Jareth endured. He had minded his odious task, though no others, catering to the mortals that wished away their unwanted children, even when those wishes came seldom, and faintly. It had been long centuries since any mortal had had the strength of belief to summon him, but Sarah had been like a beacon in a moonless night, a shining star of energy on which he and his kingdom could draw.

His pacing slowed, his thoughts settling on that realization. Perhaps that was all this was - a flush of energy from his ties to his kingdom, nothing more. Time would tell. And for a little while, at least, he could be patient.

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Sarah screamed at the wall where the Goblin King pulled his disappearing trick. It was pure frustration - both physical and emotional - but it made her feel better. He confused her - making her want him, making her think he wanted her, then leaving her here to rot. She contemplated throwing a full-blown temper tantrum, but decided it wasn't worth it without an audience. The _gall_ of that man. No wonder she had denied him, seven years ago - he seemed to goad her into her worst behavior.

Worse, he seemed to enjoy it.

She paced for a while, willing her pulse to subside, forcing her frustrated desire to cool along with her anger. She had not been so angry as to miss the undertone of his last words to her - and as infuriating as he might be, he was also right. The Labyrinth - the whole Underground - was rife with deception. Taking things for granted had nearly been her downfall, when she was here the first time. If what the Goblin King said was correct, now it could mean her death.

It was an uncomfortable thought. For seven years, she had daydreamed of the Labyrinth, her memory colored with nostalgia. He had said that the Labyrinth had been welcoming - though she hadn't thought of it that way, when she was fifteen. Still, she was no longer a child, and though her life experience was limited compared to Jareth's, she knew now that her run had not been particularly dangerous. Frustrating, perhaps, and certainly designed to force her to reexamine her perceptions and her assumptions, but not deadly.

Perhaps she was due to give her assumptions yet another exam. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd gotten herself into - only that saying yes had felt so _right_. And kissing him had felt like coming home. She wasn't entirely an innocent, despite her lack of a relationship, and she knew that no other person had ever made her feel so desirable, so wanted. But lust was no foundation for a relationship, and she and the Goblin King had quite a bit of history that they'd have to address before they could move forward.

Sarah settled herself down on the floor to think. She was back in the Underground. Tomorrow was the beginning of something that could be wonderful. She just had to figure out how to make her reality match up to her dreams.

**A/N: ** This one got a bit longer than I wanted my chapters to be, but I didn't want to break up the exposition bits too much. This is initially where I'd planned to end "In Dreams", but I've got plot bunnies eating my ankles on this one, so I foresee at least another five or six chapters, give or take massive bolts of inspiration. I'm VERY grateful for the reviews I've gotten - it means a LOT to me that people are reading and enjoying my work. The next few chapters will probably be a bit delayed - please be patient with me!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay - stupid real life...this chapter is a tiny bit less angsty, in some respects, but I'm just no good at fluff. I like my romance like I like my coffee - bitter and scorching hot. :-) This chapter is also a short one - I promise not to leave anyone hanging too long!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to Jim Henson and Co.

When Sarah awoke, the candle Jareth had left her had guttered in its own wax, and the oubliette was dark once more. She knew she hadn't merely dropped off - the stiffness in her shoulders from sleeping curled up on a rough stone floor was testament enough - but she still felt drained. Her sleep hadn't been particularly restful, and the emotional rollercoaster of the evening before hadn't helped.

Her thoughts had chased themselves round in circles, and now it was difficult to remember what conclusions, if any, she had drawn. She knew there was no going back to her old life, and despite her lingering weariness she had resolved to at least try to view her new life with some courage.

That courage was hard to grasp, after a night spent in an oubliette. It was a place designed to instill fear - and she was ashamed to admit that it had worked very well. Her jailer was part of the problem, as well. She was no longer an innocent young girl - she knew, now, the threat that the Goblin King presented. He was cruel, as he had warned her he could be, and she could no longer pretend that he was anything resembling human. Oh, his features were human-like, yes, and their passionate embrace had taught her that, in some very specific respects, his body was human-like, too, but his mind, _his __heart_, was not. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she had been terribly impulsive. He seemed to spark that recklessness, seemed to feed it, and she was once again paying the price.

She could only pray that she would be left with fewer regrets this time.

J/S/J/S/J/S/J/S

Dawn broke slowly over the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, but its master still lay abed, sprawled across silk sheets. He had not slept, but he was loathe to rise, nonetheless. He was somewhat unsettled by his immediate physical reaction to the woman he had left languishing in an oubliette.

He had known, when he had ventured Aboveground, that he would have to tread carefully. His emotions had never been so volatile as when he had dealt with Sarah Williams, and he had prepared for the onslaught of feeling she provoked in him. But his lust for her was unexpected. He was no stranger to casual dalliance - at the height of the Underground's society, he had been considered something of a ladies' man - but he had never before experienced such fierce desire. The girl had been pretty enough at fifteen, but she had blossomed into a breathtaking young woman in seven years. Gone was the softness of youth, the coltishness of adolescence - she had a _grace_ that took his breath away. He hadn't intended to kiss her, there in the little scrap of forest near her home. But her mouth had drawn him, and her passionate response had unleashed something feral in him, something he hadn't known he was capable of feeling.

Nor, indeed, had he intended to torment himself in the oubliette. A sardonic smile played across his lips at the memory of her softness pressed against him. Her ardor had been like spark to kindling, and he had burned for her like no other. She had such fire in her, his Sarah! No longer an innocent, untouchable - he would have to be careful with his seduction, lest he lose himself in her completely. Never before had he been so enthralled, and he had certainly never expected to be driven to the height of passion by a mortal. Only long years of restraint, of playing the game of courtship, had kept him from possessing her utterly. It was a measure of how dangerous she could be, that his control had been so threatened.

He rose, reluctantly, and with a disdainful flick of his wrist, garbed himself in the armor of the Goblin King - breeches of smoke, a leather jerkin wrought with his symbol - and went to claim his Queen.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Another short one, but things are moving along, I promise!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Character property of Jim Henson and Co.

Dim light had finally filtered through the cracks in the ceiling of the oubliette. Sarah paced, trying to ignore her aching head and empty stomach. The oubliette was six paces long, and four paces wide. She'd been counting her paces for a while now, as the claustrophobic darkness had slowly lifted, her thoughts chasing each other.

The Goblin King had come to claim his heart. The Labyrinth had chosen a Queen. And Sarah was both of those things - the Goblin King's heart, and his Queen. She wasn't sure which one frightened her more.

Oh, a certain part of her rejoiced at the thought of being a fairytale Queen, but she was very much afraid that the kingdom she was to rule was meant to rule was not so whitewashed as the fairytales that had so enraptured her adolescent heart. She'd read enough of the older myths, as she'd gotten older, to realize that the Labyrinth would be darker, more dangerous, than she had so naively found it seven years before. And she'd read enough to be wary of dealings with its king, though her impulsive nature seemed to have completely run away with her good sense.

As for the Goblin King...well, her body had certainly responded eagerly enough. Just the thought of his mouth slanting across hers was enough to bring a flush of desire to her cheeks. He claimed to love her - but what was love to a creature like him? Was he capable of love? She just didn't know. Everything she'd read about mythical creatures had indicated that they were capable only of obsession and possession, not love. At least, not love as she had anticipated, anyway.

"Now what, feet?" she murmured, shaking her head at her entirely self-inflicted quandary. "What have we got ourselves into this time?"

The laughter that emanated from behind her made her jump and stumble to her knees.

"Talking to yourself, Sarah? I hadn't thought the oubliette would break you so quickly, my dear," he drawled, mockery thick in his voice. She felt a flush of rage, and struggled to her feet.

"Just looking for intelligent conversation," she snapped, meeting his eyes at last. They were cold, lit with the light of cruelty she remembered so vividly from her Run.

"You wound me, Sarah," he declaimed, a melodramatic hand across his breast. "And here I thought I might be _generous_with you..." Her eyes flashed at the word, but she held her tongue. He cocked his head in that uniquely avian way, waiting for her outburst. "Such a pity. I do enjoy your temper, Sarah." He held out one leather-clad hand, but Sarah hesitated. "I won't bite you, Sarah. Come here."

The command in his voice was clear, but now the caution that had so deserted her made her pause.

"How do I know you don't have another unpleasant surprise waiting for me?" she asked, irritated at the petulance she heard in her own voice. His smile was sharp, never warming the chill in his gaze.

"You don't." Silence stretched between them. He watched her, hand still outstretched, in the dim light. He knew she had no reason to trust him, but something in him craved her trust nonetheless. He saw her fear, and savored it.

Sarah trembled. His scent rolled over her, cinnamon and leather and peat. Lust and fear warred within her, and her curiosity flared. She didn't want to trust him. She knew she shouldn't trust him. But she had no other choice, and if she had any hope of ruling by his side, she would have to surrender at least some of her fear. She took his hand.

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In a heartbeat, the Goblin King pulled her close, his cloak swirling around her. She felt the floor drop away from beneath her, and her eyes were suddenly dazzled by brilliant sunshine. The light slanted sharply through a massive oriel window, spilling in a haze of gold across smooth flagstones. They stood at the top of the castle, and when her eyes adjusted, Sarah was treated to a view of the entire Labyrinth. She couldn't help her startled gasp, anymore than she could help pulling away from the Goblin King to lean on the wide curving sill of the window to stare at the beauty that sprawled beneath the castle.

Jareth watched, bemused, as she tucked herself into the curve of the window. Something in him twisted sharply when he realized that she was perched just as he had been seven years before, sending crystalline dreams to a girl who had tasted a poisoned peach. Seeing her here, so unconsciously aping his pose, gave him pause. She was lost in her reverie, for a moment overawed by the beauty of the Labyrinth, and he was suddenly loathe to disturb her.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed, drawing up one knee to her chest. She heard his footsteps as he came nearer, and when he laid a hand on her shoulder she looked up at his face. He smiled down at her, but his eyes were cold, haunted by something she couldn't name.

"My Lady," he murmured, and his bow was almost mocking. "Breakfast will be served in half an hour. If you wish to bathe and refresh yourself, please, feel free to avail yourself of the facilities." He gestured at the room behind him, and Sarah gave a faint start when she realized where he had brought her.

The room was tastefully appointed - tapestries adorned the stone walls, thick carpets cushioned the flagstones, and thick beeswax candles stood unlit and sweetly scented in delicate wrought iron stands. The room was decidedly masculine, and from the massive bed that dominated the center of the floor, decidedly Jareth's.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, alas.**

Sarah felt a brief flutter of panic when she realized that she was alone in the room. The Goblin King's departures had always been sudden, but he'd never left her alone in his bedroom. Her imagination, the traitor, helpfully conjured up all of the deliciously terrible things he could have done to her, but she was startled to find herself somewhat disappointed that he'd merely left her here to freshen up.

Not that she was complaining. A long day at work was enough to make her crave a hot shower - a heated confrontation with her childhood nemesis and a night in a dusty oubliette made her willing to beg for it. Unfortunately, a shower didn't seem to be on offer - there was a simple wooden washstand, beside a cloth and iron dressing screen. She crossed the room and dipped a hesitant fingertip into the water - it wasn't cold, but it was far from hot. A little cautious exploration behind the screen revealed a length of toweling, a cake of spicy soap, and a thick washcloth. She had nothing clean to change into, but it was better than nothing. She stripped out of her dusty blouse and jeans, and quickly sponged herself off as best she could with the tepid water. She ran damp fingers through her hair in an attempt to free the worst of the tangles, but with no mirror, she couldn't be sure how successful she had been.

The whore's bath had not been entirely successful in making her feel better, but at least her face and hands were clean. She gingerly prodded her lower lip with her tongue, flinching when she encountered the point where Jareth had nipped her. It had stopped bleeding, but it was still somewhat swollen.

_Her __blood__, __glistening __darkly __on __his __lip__. __It __would __have __been __natural __to __lick __it __away__, __to __swallow __the __evidence __of __his __cruelty__, __but __he __didn__'__t__. __It __gleamed __black __in __the __moonlight__, __and __his __leather__-__clad __hand __trembled__._

She had never seen him so...uncontrolled. Seven years ago, he had been masterful, cold - even at the last, when he dropped his many masks, and she saw his need in those mismatched eyes, he had never been violent. His anger had been chilly, contemptuous, not passionate. But his control had clearly slipped, beneath the trees, and his rage had been formidable. It had frightened her, repelled her, even as she had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

She had felt stirrings of her own darkness, in the seven years since her run, but had firmly pushed them aside. Was this what she had denied craving? This exquisite cruelty? The Goblin King had tormented her, tempted her, left her aching with want, and she had reveled in it. She had not thought herself so twisted - but then, whose fault was that? She had been an innocent, when she had wished her brother away to the goblins, but a tainted peach and a darkly sensual King had stripped away some of that innocence. He had been her first taste of adult desires, and he had warned her too late.

_I __can __be __cruel__._

Was that why he had come to her? Was that why she had so recklessly wished herself away? Had he sensed that she was capable of that same cruelty? Perhaps he had seen something in her at fifteen, some seed that he could nurture to bear bitter fruit. And yet...had she never run his labyrinth, had she never tasted the peach, never cast herself against him, how would she be different? She had touched magic, and it had _changed_ her. Gone were the stormy passions of adolescence, the selfishness she had wrapped herself in like a cloak. She had learned that all actions have consequences, that friendship could weather betrayal, that there was more to life than just her. Even the repercussions of his defeat - she had known, even at fifteen, with the painful lessons the labyrinth had taught her, that the words she spoke in their final confrontation had a greater effect than she had first suspected.

A soft chiming sound interrupted her troubled thoughts, and she turned to see a shadowed alcove open inward, light from the hallway beyond spilling through. That light was shuttered almost immediately by the Goblin King, bearing a covered tray and a simple clay pitcher. His smile was brittle as he set the tray on a low table.

"Your breakfast, My Lady. I trust you are...suitably refreshed?" Despite her nervousness, his eyes were bright with humor, cruel though it might be, and she found herself unable to resist the urge to spar with him.

"Of course, _Your __Majesty__._ Cold water, and no mirror? One would think you were a monk." His lips twitched, and for a moment, he was no longer threatening, no longer cold - there was a spark of warmth in his chiseled features, and Sarah desperately longed to fan it. No sooner had it appeared, however, it was gone, shuttered beneath a mask of arrogance once more.

"Come now, Sarah, we both know that I am far from monkish," he drawled, and lifted the cover from the tray with a flourish. "Come and eat, before it grows cold."

The meal laid out on the tray looked terribly appetizing - scrambled eggs, two thick strips of bacon, toast with butter, and the pitcher held steaming black coffee. Sarah felt her mouth water. But the last item on the tray made her heart race - a bowl of delicately sliced peaches, swimming in cream. She looked up at the Goblin King, searching his gaze. The smirk was back, and he tilted his head in a slight, mocking bow.

"Peaches? Really?" Her voice was steady, and she was grateful. What had once seemed a peace offering now held menace - and far too many memories. "I seem to recall some...unpleasant side effects from the last peach I ate." His smirk widened into a grin, sharp canines flashing from behind thin lips.

"Unpleasant for you, perhaps, dear Sarah. Consider it yet another gift for you to scorn. You seem so intent on doing so. It would be cruel of me to deprive you of the opportunity."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at that. She was surprised to find herself having...fun. They were trading barbs, and there was an undercurrent of deadly seriousness, but still - it appealed to her. It had been so long since she'd had someone who challenged her intellect. She'd have to keep on her toes around him.

**A/N:**

I'd like to take a moment and thank everyone who has reviewed so far. It means SO MUCH to me that you have all been so kind, and so appreciative of my work. I'm new to fanfic, at least from a writer's perspective, and I'm glad to say that so far I've felt very welcome. Thank you.

This chapter, and subsequent chapters, is a bit longer than the last few. Yay! Unfortunately, that means it's going to take me a bit longer to get them edited and prettified before posting. All my work is unbeta'd, and I have a full-time job and a million chirruns to run after, so it will likely take me a bit to get things up. Please bear with me! I'm shooting for updates twice a month, more if I can squeeze more edit time into my schedule.

Next one is Jareth's perspective, which is hard for me to get the way I want it. Boo...

Also? I am apparently terribly fond of the passive voice. My English teachers would kill me...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Look! An update! A baby update, but still an update! Why is it so late? Because I am a bad author. Bad author. Bad, bad, bad, bad BAD author. So sorry for the lengthy delay, loves. :-( **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, alas.**

While he would never admit it to anyone but himself, some small part of him had hoped to catch Sarah en dishabille, but the sight of her looking so terribly bedraggled did his sense of humor a world of good. She had missed a rather large streak of grime down the center of her nose, and wet fingers in cobwebbed hair had only served to leave her looking more than a trifle windblown. Still, it wouldn't do to goad her too sharply, at least, not yet, but he couldn't help the peaches on her breakfast tray.

If nothing else, her wit had sharpened since she'd run his labyrinth. He lounged in the chair across from her, toying idly with a crystal, and watched her eat. Despite her spoken misgivings, she ate the peaches with unalloyed pleasure, savoring the richness of the cream. It pained him to see her so close to happiness, since he knew that it was only a matter of time before that joy was stripped from her. The Underground was not a gentle place, and he was surprised to feel a small stirring of what could only be remorse. She was still innocent, and his kingdom would take that from her. It had been too long since he had felt remorse - such an emotion was a luxury that could be ill-afforded in any ruler, but especially not in the Goblin King.

He had lost himself in his musings, and the conversation that had been so lively had trailed into silence. Sarah was toying with the remnants of her breakfast, unwilling to meet his eyes behind the crystal that danced along his gloved hands. He vanished the crystal and stood abruptly, extending a hand across the table.

"Come, Sarah. It's time you met your subjects, as they truly are."

"The goblins, you mean," she replied, looking up at him. She really was quite adorable, so mussed, but it wouldn't do for them to see their queen so out of sorts. He smirked, twisting his wrist to conjure another crystal.

"Yes, Sarah, the goblins. Goblin King, remember?" She eyed the crystal warily. "It is a spell, Sarah. A simple one."

"And what does it do?"

"Why don't you take it, and find out?" She smiled, then, and he saw in her a reflection of his own cruelty.

"I think I've had enough of your games, Jareth," she said, and rose from the table. "You say that they are my subjects? Then I am Queen, yes?"

He eyed her carefully. There was an undercurrent of fear in her voice, but she hid it well. "Yes," she said simply.

"Then I truly am your equal, in power, am I not?" At that, he grinned, wolfish and just as cruel. He gave her a mocking bow, all of the flourishes and foppery of his court at the height of its decadence.

"If my Lady wishes to appear for the first time in front of her subjects dressed in filthy rags and wearing a crown of cobwebs, my Lady is more than welcome to do so. However, if my Lady wishes to greet her subjects in a manner befitting the station she is so eager to claim, my Lady must first accept the generosity of her King," he drawled, proffering the crystal once more. Sarah's eyes widened, first in shock, then in rage, and she raised one trembling hand to her hair. With a snarl, she snatched the crystal from his hand, jumping slightly when it popped like a soap bubble. In an instant, her dark chestnut hair hung sleek and shining, and her clothing had changed to something not entirely unlike the dress she had worn to play at being a princess in the park. A simple silver circlet rested on her brow. Jareth felt his breath catch, struck by her beauty - this was how she was meant to be, here in his realm.

Not even her childish pout could spoil it.


End file.
